


As Long As We’re Together [Does It Matter Where We Go?]

by mia2323



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, I'm so sorry about the feelings of this, Like so sorry, Major Illness, Major character death - Freeform, Mentions of Cancer, Romance, Young Love, but I had to do it!, tfios inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3971677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia2323/pseuds/mia2323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>[So, here is my TFIOS inspired Bellarke fic! It’s a bit messy but I enjoy it all the same. Again, it’s TFIOS inspired so prepare yourselves. All grammar mistakes are mine. Poem excerpt is taken from Dylan Thomas’s <i>Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night</i>. Don’t hate me, please.]</p>
    </blockquote>





	As Long As We’re Together [Does It Matter Where We Go?]

**Author's Note:**

> [So, here is my TFIOS inspired Bellarke fic! It’s a bit messy but I enjoy it all the same. Again, it’s TFIOS inspired so prepare yourselves. All grammar mistakes are mine. Poem excerpt is taken from Dylan Thomas’s _Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night_. Don’t hate me, please.]

Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 

…

Her mother has been studying biology for the last two and a half decades. She knows how a body should work; she knows how a body should heal. Abigail Christine Griffin. She has won the Nobel Peace Prize and she has even gone to the White House on several occasions. Her mother saves lives everyday.

Too bad she can’t save hers.

Clarke Griffin is seventeen years, one hundred and seventeen days and eight hours old. Clarke Griffin is also dying. And she has been for the past five years, seventeen days and nine hours.

Her lungs, the one’s that used to support her hiking journeys with her father and her love for a good morning jog, were no longer supporting her. They felt like they were no longer her own and in a way, they weren’t.

She found it interesting to watch how her family handled their grief when her doctors were talking about ending her treatment. Her father, her precious father was calm and collected. He looked at her with tears in his eyes and tried his best to smile. Her mother. Well, her mother did what her mother did best. She didn’t accept the answer. She talked about trying a different branch of experimental drugs. She refused to accept it.

She had just stared at her mother. She had held on for this long but she knows that when her mom gets like this, it’s best to keep quiet. Her mother, the dreamer, the fixer, the optimist, could not give up.

Even though she already had. Maybe her mother would accept her fate when she was lowering her into the ground.

Her father says it’s morbid to talk like that and she usually agrees but she’s tired and her lungs are killing her. Literally.

She’s currently sitting beside her mother in the car glancing at a very, very old church. Her lungs are heaving and her face is sweaty and all she really wants to do is lay on the couch at home and watch Doctor Who.

However, this is what her mother wants and she rather do that than see the sad lines in her mother’s brow.

Her mother turns to her. She adjusts the tubes in her nose properly as she turns to face her as well.

“Ready?”

She shrugs. It’s not like she’s not ready. She doesn’t want to go to a grief counseling group with children and adults alike who are well, dying. Not all of them are dying, her mother had corrected two nights earlier. Some of them just need the support of moving forward with their lives after losing someone themselves.

She wondered if her mother would go when she was no longer alive. No longer the daughter of Abigail and Jacob Griffin. No longer anything at all. Just a mere memory or a second thought when they would wake up and go about their day, without her. She –

“Clarke?”

She shook her thoughts away and nodded, placing her hand on the door. Her mother smiled and she found herself awkwardly giving one back before she stepped outside of the car, dragging her oxygen tank with her.

“I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nodded and offered a small wave as she walked away from her mother. She waved slightly behind her as she walked toward the doors of the small church. It was pathetic really but she didn’t have any room to talk.

She recalled that the grief support group met in the basement, which meant she probably had to go down a flight of stairs and lately the stairs and her were not getting along whatsoever.

She took her time and went down the stairs one by one until she reached a dimly lit room that had chairs circling around in the center. She narrowed her eyes but continued on her journey, practically out of breath by the time she plopped herself into a chair.

“Hey.”

She turned her head toward a brunette smiling softly in her direction. “Um, hey.” She recalls that this is the first sentence she has spoken today. She also notices that she sounds like an out of breath idiot.

The girl nods and sticks out her handing. “Octavia.”

She slowly places her pale, veiny hand into the warmth embrace of the hand before her. “Clarke.”

The girl drops her hand moments later with a small smile. “What are you in for?”

It occurs to her that not all people here are actually dying. She’s intrigued, so she says, “Thyroid cancer.” She pauses. “I’m kind of dying.” She thinks about how much of an idiot she sounds like again but Octavia only nods.

“My mom died.” She pauses. “I got into some bad stuff so my brother and well, the law are making me come here.” She nods around the room. “You’re finally someone under thirty-five here.”

She looks around the room at that moment and concludes that Octavia is right. Everyone around them is older. Everyone around them has lived longer years than she has and probably will live longer than her. She tries not to think about it.

A man with brown hair that reaches his neck stands in the middle of the circle of chairs. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

She doesn’t say anything for the next hour. Either does Octavia.

…

She’s waiting outside the church with Octavia when a beat up pick-up truck comes into view. She hears Octavia sigh beside her. She turns her head.

“My brother.” Octavia answers with a grimace as if she’s recalling a certain memory as she stares at the truck like she has a bad taste in her mouth.

The truck pulls up and a dark-haired boy with a lot of freckles stares back at them.

“Can Clarke come over?” Octavia asks quickly. “She’s kind of dying.”

Her brother narrows his eyes at his sister before he looks over at her and takes in her appearance. Her neck length hair (it finally started to grow last summer and she is pretty excited about it, even though she still looks like a twelve year old boy), her oxygen tank and her glowing pale skin. His eyes soften as he finds himself nodding any grunting out an okay.

Octavia jumps up with a grin before turning toward her. “You can come over, right?”

Just then, she see’s her mother’s BMW pool in at exactly four-o’clock. Abigail Griffin is always, always on time.

“One second.” She mumbles as she pulls her oxygen tank toward her mother’s car. Her breathing is slightly irregular because she can’t remember the last time someone actually wanted to hangout with her that wasn’t her parents or doctors.

Her mother rolls down the passenger window when she doesn’t get into the car with a slight frown.

“I made a friend.” Her voice is strong and her mother smiles at the words as if the fact that she made an acquaintance will make her live longer. “Can I go to her house?”

Her mother’s smile slowly fades. “I don’t know, Clarke.” She looks out the windshield toward the beat up pick-up truck. “You have to take your meds at eight-.”

“I’ll be home before eight.” Her voice is rushed and it’s causing her to get a bit of a head rush. “Can I please do this?”

Her mother lets out a breath. “Be home at seven.”

She nods and can’t help the grin that comes over her face.

…

“So, do you have some sort of bucket list?”

She glances over from her spot on the grass into the eyes of Octavia Blake. She had only picked up the last name from the decal on her brother’s truck. B. Blake Lawn Care

She has gotten this question a lot. “Sort of, I guess.”

Octavia tilts her head and picks at the grass. They are under a large willow tree. It makes her fingers itch for the pastels under her bed.

She hastily pulls out her phone and opens her notes, sliding it across her knee toward Octavia.

It says:

_-Watch the sun set and rise all in one day_  
-Swim in the ocean  
-See a Van Gogh painting  
-Be in two states at once  
-Ride a carousel  
-Adopt an animal  
-Learn to play piano  
-Fly  
-Fall in love 

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Have you done any of these?”

She shrugs and locks her phone making the screen go black. “Not yet.” The words hang around them before Octavia jumps up with a wicked grin.

She’s known the girl for maybe two hours but she can already tell that she’s up to no good with the look on her face.

“Come on then.”

She stands up wobbly before she slowly follows the girl in question. “Where are we going?”

They are headed toward the pick-up truck and Octavia’s grin is so wide that it almost scares her. “I’ve always wanted a pet.”

…

They are at the humane society two towns over. Octavia’s grinning so wide and she can’t help by grin herself. She looks at all pets around them and feels a sense of dread. “I can’t have a pet at home”

Octavia turns her head from a small orange kitten with the name, Hercules.

“My mom.” She mumbles out dumbly as she reaches into a cage and sticks her fingers out for a small cat to purr against.

“Do you like that one?”

She turns her head and sees the smile on Octavia’s face. She nods before she glances back at the small cat. His name is Hugo and he’s gray. Part of his ear is missing but she doesn’t care.

“Then we’ll get it.”

“Octavia-.”

“He can stay at my house.” Octavia is already opening the cage with a large grin. “That way you have to come back to see him.”

“Okay.”

Octavia grins as she says. “Okay.”

…

She gets home at exactly seven o’clock. Her mother stands in the doorway as she climbs out of the truck. She turns and pets Hugo goodbye before she adjusts her oxygen tank and walks toward her mother with a large grin.

“Why are you so smiley?” Her mother is also smiling. She realizes this is the first time she’s felt genuinely happy in quite some time.

She turns to see Octavia’s driving the truck away. “I made a friend.”

…

She looks at her bucket list with a grin, placing a check mark next to, _Adopt an animal._

She is hooked up to her breathing machine and she feels the rush of air swirling around her. It makes her dizzy and it makes her feel like she’s floating. But most of it is due to the fact that she, Clarke Elizabeth Griffin, has made a friend.

All on her own.

…

“So you’re the one I should blame.”

She glances up from the worn out couch where’s she sitting. In her lap is a sleeping Hugo. She comes face to face with a soft smile of Bellamy Blake. She only knows his name because Octavia had yelled it earlier when they walked into the house.

He’s wearing blue jeans and a worn out gray t-shirt. His smile is sincere despite his words.

She glances at Hugo with a slight frown. “I’m sorry. I-.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice is thick and she feels a warm sensation running up against the back of her neck. “He’s not that bad.”

She smiles at that as she runs her hand down the small cat’s back. She feels his lungs breathe in and out as he dreams on. She wonders what that’s like. She can’t remember what it was like to breathe on her own. She can’t remember much of her life before chemotherapy and shots and pills.

She’s frowning again.

“You alright?”

She turns her head, surprised that he’s still there. She nods. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

It’s silent for a few minutes. The kind of silence that’s not awkward or strange but the kind that’s still and knowing.

“O said you have a list.”

And that’s how it started.

…

She is currently sitting smack dab between the Blake siblings. Her oxygen tank is resting against Octavia’s legs. It feels nice not to have to carry that weight all on her own for a moment.

They are driving toward the coast that much she is certain about. She smiles as the wind runs through her hair. Bellamy is tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel and Octavia is belting out to a song on the radio. A song that Bellamy rolled his eyes at despite the fact that he is keeping along to the beat.

She enjoys her time with them. They argue most of the time but after, Bellamy usually smiles softly at his sister and Octavia in return gently pushes his shoulder before she loops her arm around his neck.

She’s jealous of their relationship. Mostly because it’s obvious they are close and they care wildly for another. She wonder’s what her life would be like if she had a sibling. Maybe it would be easier on her parents, maybe it would be easier on her knowing that she wasn’t leaving her family behind with nothing but rotten memories.

Octavia elbowed her side lightly. “You okay?”

She nodded and Octavia continued to sing along to the radio. Bellamy didn’t continue to drum his fingers.

They reach the beach after what seems like hours later even though it was only a few minutes.

Octavia runs out quickly, stripping off her shirt, leaving her in her shorts and cami as she ran toward the water.

She takes her time, mostly because she has to. She slowly climbs out of the car and goes to reach for her oxygen tank. Bellamy beats her to it. “I got it.”

She opens her mouth but closes it just as fast. She nods and heads toward the water. It takes her some time but Bellamy always stays in step with her, only handing back her oxygen tank when her feet are in the water. Octavia is already swimming yards away.

She closes her eyes as the cool salt water laps at her ankles. She opens her eyes and lets out a teary chuckle. Bellamy stares at her.

“You can’t imagine how amazing this is.”

She turns to him then but finds him already looking at her. He coughs slightly and turns toward the water, watching his sister. “It is pretty amazing, yeah?” She looks at him for another split second before she looks down at the water swimming around her toes. “Yeah. Pretty amazing.”

…

She goes home with a smile on her face.

She eats dinner with her parents and smiles along the way, laughing at her father’s jokes and listening to her mother’s stories from work that day.

And then it happens.

…

When she wakes up, she’s in the ER. Her head feels light as she adjusts to the blinking lights above her. She hooked up to so many machines that she has to close her eyes instead of count because the large amount makes her dizzy.

She takes a few deep breaths, thanks to the machines she’s hooked up to before she opens her eyes again. She looks through the small glass window and sees her mother. Her mother is crying and has a hand pressed up against her mouth. Her father’s hand is on her shoulder, his eyes are tightly shut.

She has to look away.

She turns her head toward the window and watches a bird chirp happily from it’s spot on a tree branch. She wonders briefly what it’s like to be able to fly away. Fly away from everything. Away from the pain. Away from the fear. Away from it all.

Her mother’s footsteps come in. Then she hears the doctor’s.

She doesn’t turn away from the window when they tell her that she’s progressing quicker than what they had hoped.

She only watches the bird outside until it too, flies away.

…

She’s eating from a pudding cup when there’s a knock on her door. Her mother’s off doing rounds and her father is at work. She narrows her eyes and mumbles to come in as she places her pudding cup down and watches as a head of curly hair comes into the room.

Her eyes widen and she finds herself sitting up straighter.

“What – what are you doing here?” Bellamy looks around her room and holds up a finger before he goes back toward the door. “Alright, bring her in.”

She’s about to ask who her is but the words die out on her tongue when two other boys wheel in a small piano. She tilts her head as the piano gets situated before her bed. Once the two boys have the piano in place, they turn to her.

“Miss Clarke Griffin.” The taller of the two says. “I am Jasper and this is my very best friend, Monty Green.” He bows with a large grin. “Glad to be of service.”

Bellamy grunts and she turns her head toward him with a small grin on her face. “What’s all this?”

Monty smiles cheekily as he gestures toward the piano. “Bellamy said you require a piano lesson. I am happy to help.” He holds up his hands and wiggles his fingers with a smile that’s soft and kind.

She smiles widely now. She slowly pushes herself into a seated position and swings her legs so they are against the cold floor. Bellamy holds out his hands for her and she slowly places her cold, small hand into his large, warm one. They look at another as he pulls her into a standing position. They stand facing another for a few moments before he slowly leads her toward the piano.

She sits on the small bench and Monty sits next to her with a small grin before he puts his fingers onto the keys. His fingers move quickly and beautifully and before she knows it, she’s playing (slowly) alongside him.

She smiles the whole time and when she turns her head, she see’s Bellamy smiling too.

…

Jasper and Monty are long gone but Bellamy is sitting at the foot of her bed. She studies his profile from her spot. She’s not that good at breathing as it is but Bellamy Blake makes breathing seem near impossible.

“My mom died last year.” He says softly but loudly at the same time. She understands that this is how he sounds about anything and everything. She relishes in it. “It was hard. Octavia went into this really deep depression before she started acting out but she’s been good and I’m pretty sure that’s because of you. She’s stronger.”

She shakes her head at this. “She was already strong.”

Bellamy smiles softly at that before he continues. “I’ve known you for what, two weeks?” She nods. “And there’s just something about you I can’t get over. So I guess what I’m saying is that I want to be in your life. I want to help you with your list. I want to know everything about you.” 

The words make her insides swarm. She feels herself nodding before she takes in where she is. Where she takes in the machines she’s hooked up to. “Bellamy.” She says his name softly. “I’m – I’m a grenade. I’m going to get worse. I’m going-.”

“So, I’ll be here.”

“Bellamy, I’m going to hurt you.”

She watches him take in the words. After some time, he nods. “It’s my choice.”

“Okay.”

He shakes his head softly before he smiles at her and it’s beautiful. “Okay.”

…

She’s released a week later and that week at grief counseling, Octavia talks about her mother and the phase she fell into. She’s open, she’s honest, she’s brave.

She holds her hand the entire time but stays silent. The words she wants to say not ready to leave her mouth.

…

She’s propped up on her bed when there’s a tapping at her window.

Her eyes widen as she watches it fly open and Bellamy Blake appear, his sister one-step behind him.

She sits up with a grin. “What are you guys doing here?”

Bellamy comes up toward her; Octavia has one foot in the window, one foot out.

“We have a list to finish, yeah?” Bellamy holds his hands out to her again. She bites her lip as she slowly gets off the bed. She grabs a sweater, black Toms and a hold of her oxygen tank. Luckily her room is on the first floor, so she can crawl out of her room the same way the Blake siblings had. It takes her a bit longer but soon her feet are on the ground and she’s walking toward the familiar truck.

She doesn’t think about the fact that she’s been holding Bellamy Blake’s hand since she left her window.

…

She stands between Maryland and Virginia with a smile on her face. Octavia takes a picture and posts it to Instagram. Bellamy stands a few feet away from her with a look on his face that poets couldn’t even describe.

It’s then that she realizes that this is going to hurt her more than she thought.

…

The sun is coming up when she’s in the bed of Bellamy’s truck. Her oxygen tank on one side of her, him on the other. Octavia is laying inside the truck and if she listens intently, she can hear her soft snores.

“Clarke.”

He says her name softly. Like a prayer or even the end of a song that you can’t stop listening to.

She turns to him and before she knows it, her lips are connected to his.

Everything grows still.

…

She feels like she’s floating on clouds days after kissing Bellamy Blake. She thinks about how she pulled away with a small laugh and he only smiled at her before diving in and kissing her again.

“What’s got you so smiley?” Her father asks as he looked over his newspaper.

“Nothing.” She’s still smiling.

Her mother smiles and goes quiet for a long time before she gives her a smile that’s different entirely. A mother always knows. “Does he know?”

“Yes.”

The sad smile stays on the rest of the day.

The cloud she was floating on turns gray.

…

On a Thursday on a day that’s ordinary to most, is extraordinary to her.

She finally talks about her thoughts and her fears and grief counseling. She talks about being diagnosed. She talks about how the first time, when she almost was gone for good, that her mother had cried and cried and how the only thing she really remembered was her mother saying she wasn’t going to be a mom anymore.

How those few words made her hold on.

She talks about her love for painting

She talks about her parents dancing in the kitchen together.

She talks about her bucket list.

She talks about how weak she feels.

She talks about the Blake siblings.

She feels light.

She feels whole.

She feels Octavia’s hand in hers.

…

She’s lying on the Blake’s couch. Hugo is bigger and laying on her stomach purring. Her head is in Bellamy’s lap. He’s absent-mindedly playing with her hair as he reads a book about Greek gods.

She wishes in that moment that she wasn’t sick. That she wasn’t going to die so soon because she wants more days just like this.

Bellamy stops reading and glances down at her. His hands feel like silk when they run through her hair. “What else is on your list?”

The list. She has more crossed off on her list that she ever thought she would have. All thanks to the siblings who took her in. All thanks to the boy with eyes the most beautiful shade of brown. The shade that she’s certain she will never be able to paint.

She smiles and lets the list fall away from her thoughts. “I just want to spend the day with you.”

“That can be accomplished.”

They stare at another for a long time before he leans down and connects his lips to hers. It’s soft and slow and perfect before it gets a bit faster and a bit clumsy.

He picks her up, oxygen tank and all as he carries her toward his bedroom. He slowly peels off her shirt and peels off his own.

She realizes as she lays there, breathing in fresh air from her oxygen tank and the air of Bellamy Blake that she’s crossing off another thing on her bucket list.

_Falling in love._

It’s beautiful and it makes her cry once he finally drifts off to sleep.

…

The next day when she’s in the kitchen with her mother making her father’s favorite pie, she can’t breathe.

She clutches her throat. She clutches her mother.

Everything grows dark.

…

When she opens her eyes again, the wall before her is completely covered in Van Gogh’s, Starry Night.

Bellamy is beside her, asleep.

It grows dark again.

…

The next time she wakes up, the room is dark except for the streetlights coming in from the outside. Her mother is beside her with the light from her iPad shining on her face. She’s mumbling about experimental drugs in Israel that have worked. She takes notes on the pad before her. It takes her awhile until she hears her calling her name.

“I feel like I’m drowning.” Her mother looks alarmed and gets ready to page her doctor. She stretches out her hand and gently holds her mother’s wrist. “Don’t let me go until I’m ready.”

“Clarke-.”

“Please.”

She can’t really see her mother but as she drifts asleep, she hears her mother promise to do just that.

…

Her days are filled with sleep and her parents. Occasionally they are filled with the Blake’s. Octavia sneaks in Hugo. Bellamy sneaks himself in and lies beside her at night. She thinks her mother knows but she doesn’t say anything.

Her daughter has fallen in love. It’s beautiful and it hurts, like most great love stories do.

…

Octavia comes in by herself moments before she’s asleep. She sits up and open her eyes up widely to keep from doing do.

“Thank you.”

She tilts her head sleepily. “What for?”

She doesn’t have to answer because deep down, she knows. Octavia cries and pulls out Hugo for one last time. They laugh at the cat and smile together.

It’s one of her favorite memories.

…

“I wish I had more time with you.”

She’s awake for once and laying on her side. Bellamy is propped beside her with a sad smile on his face. He lets out a small noise before he starts to cry. He presses his face against her collarbone and her whole body shakes as she weakly wraps her arms around him.

She wonders what life would be like if they met at a different time and as different people. Would she meet him on the subway and offer him a shy smile? Or would she meet him in a library and fight over a book? Or maybe, she would meet him years and years from now in a place that doesn’t even seem real.

But she didn’t meet him on the subway or the library. She met him beside a small church in a beat up pick-up truck months before she was going to die.

She has so much she wants to say. She wants to tell her father that he should make his writing hobby a lifestyle. She wants to tell her mother to open herself up more. She wants Bellamy to love her. She wants to breathe one breath that’s clear and fresh and hers.

She lets out a shaky breath and presses her lips against his forehead.

“May we meet again.” She whispers to his sleeping form because she realizes in that moment that this boy, this beautiful, beautiful boy is her soul mate and she’ll see him again. Maybe not tomorrow or in the life after this one but someday.

She banks on that day.

She listens to his heartbeat against her own as her eyes finally and lastly close to the sound.

…

Do not go gentle into that good night,  
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;  
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. 


End file.
